Everything you need to know about running and life and any other random crap I find bouncing through my mind like a ping pong ball. And always be sure your shoes are happy.

Archive for the tag “metatarsal stress fracture”

Well, I’ve just been sitting around on my flukey bootie doing nothing.

I did do some laundry. But only because I ran out of running gear. A person needs priorities.

I even went for another bike ride. Becky is an insidious person and acted like I would be doing her a favor if I rode with her. Eventually I decided to give it one last try, since I’m registered for a Tri. Because I’m stupid. Maybe I should not admit publicly that I’m stupid, but, really, not admitting it doesn’t change it. Plus it’s rather hard to hide the fact when I just typed “I’m registered for a Tri” because anyone reading that knows immediately that I am stupid.

The reason I didn’t want to ride my bike any more is that I don’t like the feeling of sheer terror. Call me stupid (I know…) but I just don’t. I don’t get happy with the adrenaline rush, heart pounding, head throbbing with blood rushing through my brain by the gallon, my body shaking with the flood of fight-or-die hormones.

One weekend when I was in high school a bunch of us, as we sometimes did, had a picnic in the desert. This was always a day-long affair, everyone driving out in the boonies, kids jumping out of the cars and running all over, moms setting out food and visiting. The dads would take us all out to some wash and teach us to shoot cans. My brother had a dirt bike he’d bought with his newspaper route money and the bigger kids took turns riding it around.

It was my turn and I was about a mile from camp, doing no more than 25mph (it had a governor) when I hit a wash and the bike bogged in the sand, so I punched it – just as I also hit a rock with the front tire and the bike came to an immediate and abrupt stop. I, however, did not stop, going head first over the handlebars, landing on my chin. Prior to that moment it was never on my radar that a person can break their jaw, but I knew immediately and instinctively that I had. I also had blood dripping on my shirt from somewhere on my face.

A few months earlier I’d sprained my ankle which necessitated a visit to the ER for an x-ray to be sure it wasn’t broken. So far in my life – and I hope no further – I have broken my finger, my wrist, my jaw, my toe and my foot; I’ve learned it’s good to go ahead and check. While there a young man in another room had a nose that would not quit bleeding and they were packing it full of something (cotton? I don’t know). That kid was screaming like they were sawing off his foot.

Thus my concern, walking the mile back to camp with a broken jaw which I could not feel because actually I was in shock, was not my jaw, but the source of blood, because I had no intention of ever letting anyone near my nose. Fortunately it turned out it was just a big gash in my chin from the impact.

By the time we’d driven back into town and stopped at the house to get insurance info the shock had worn off and let me tell you, a broken jaw: hurts. Like a mother.

And they would not give me anything for pain in case of head trauma. I hung around the ER for a few hours while they tended to other people, finally x-raying me, the tech apologizing profusely as he turned my head this way and that. Yep, broken, up to a room where I dozed off and on, in pain, until the next morning when they set my jaw. Still un-medicated, because they also needed me able to communicate while they set the jaw. Which I’m grateful for, I didn’t want a crooked face but – it hurt.

I spent the next six weeks walking around with my mouth wired shut, talking funny and carrying wire cutters because if I ever got a stomach virus or bad food things could get ugly pretty quickly.

That’s the end of the story.

Until a week or two ago, when I met Max. Mas is a beautiful dog, probably a golden-lab mix, who appeared to be maybe a year old, 80 pounds or so, and newly, deeply in love with me. He saw me riding Matilda, minding my own business, my HR about 189 since Brain wouldn’t quit thinking about how it would feel to go face first over the handlebars, and he knew we needed to be Best Friends. Flush with adoration, deaf to his owner’s fervent pleas, Max raced out of his yard and down the street after me, barking his joy and devotion. I managed to slow before he reached me, getting one foot unclipped before he jumped on me. The other foot was still clipped, and while he leaned against me in slavish love and his poor owner continued to yell at the now-deaf-with-adoration dog I managed to unclip just in time, catching myself before I went over.

Max suddenly and miraculously had his hearing restored at the exact same time the owner arrived at the scene, apologizing profusely and thanking me for my patience and understanding. I nodded that I do understand, I also have a dog who suffers event-induced deafness. And I couldn’t have said anything cranky because my heart was stuck up in my throat doing about 250.

Shaking and shivering I got on the bike and wobbled back home, where I leaned Matilda against the wall, took off my helmet and threw it at the wall, following that with my bike shoes and gloves, swearing loudly with colorful words that it was over. Sorry, Matilda, that’s the end of the relationship. It’s not you, it’s me, I want a divorce, you can have the storage shed in the settlement; there you will slowly wither and die, covered with cobwebs and eventually rust.

I knew – I knew – that Becky would not let it lie. She was good. She didn’t say anything. Like, what? I’m stubborn? She and hubs, I know what they are thinking when they get all quiet and don’t mention the elephant in the room.

But she’s so darn little and cute when she gets stubborn, and I didn’t want to make her sad, so I finally put Matilda in the back of the car and drove to meet up near the end of her ride. Since my biggest worry on the bike is not riding the bike – it’s the sudden and unexpected stop that keeps me in panic mode – I had the brilliant idea of riding in circles and stopping. There I was, in the St. Phillip parking lot, riding in circles. Ride – unclip – stop – repeat, while the ladies walking into the church looked at me like I might need an intervention.

Having birthed the spawn of satan into the world on a napalm flow of snot for the better part of the day yesterday and later coughing out the rest of his minions through my lungs I’m a bit worn out today; copious amounts of coffee are just as spitting in the wind. On the plus side I got an abs of steel workout without buying a DVD. Another notch on the plus side: I can see again. Thank God it appears Vicks Vaporub is not fatal to eyeballs. Also it is, indeed, possible to “Cry Me A River”.

That’s where I went wrong, once again flying high on getting a run Thursday and immediately taking a chance, making more plans (this run is good! I’m back! OK, Friday I’ll do this and Saturday I’ll do that and Sunday it will be …) only to crash to earth Friday morning, victim of human frailty and satan-worshiping germs as the Virus From Hell wrapped me in its evil embrace. BWAAAHAHAHAHA it chortled as I choked, lungs aflame. GO AHEAD! MAKE PLANS! BWAAHAHAHAHAHA!

Yesterday when I woke it appeared I was (mostly) done coughing and, unaware a lava flow was busy heating up inside my head, I failed to realize why I was feeling down, instead blaming it on the fact that my friends were lining up at the Swampstomper start and I wasn’t. A couple hours later I realized as far as Swampstomper went it’s just as well I broke my foot unless the karma gods, if I hadn’t broken my foot, would have spared me this cold; either way, not running because of the foot or trying to run with a healthy foot but this cold, it’s obvious that race was not meant for me this year. Never trust the karma gods.

It’s disheartening to realize, as I do occasionally before I can force myself to forget again, that the first day I ran pain-free since July 2012 was the same day I broke my foot. Those first two miles – my brain singing the Hallelujah Chorus (which you need to watch right now because I just watched it again and it’s going to be a few minutes before I can type much since I’m crying coughing choking laughing, so you have a break) – those first two miles, pain-free! I floated, gloating, certain I’d found the cure, that running Nirvana is now MINE MINE MINE, clutching the joy … and then I took one more step, too greedy – but those two miles – they were heaven.

It’s human nature, I suppose, to continue to think surely this is the day, certainly it will be like it used to be or even better.

If this thought is based upon some provable fact, yay, you’re right. “Today will be sunny. See? There’s the sun, shining.” Additionally the odds are you do not live in Memphis.

If this is based on cheerful hope, you are an optimist. “Today will be sunny, ” you think, living in Memphis, you foolish fool.

If this is based on a belief in some type of cosmic lottery which says at some point it will be time to ease up on any given person, it’s idiocy. “It’s rained for 24 hours, surely the sun will shine in Memphis today.”

Although I’m not really sure what the cats did to piss off Karma I think I should check the closet. I bet they pooped in my shoes.

Sorry there, Boy and Girl, deepest heartfelt apologies and all that blather. Kinda lost focus and direction for a while.

Wait. Let’s look at this another way. I refocused and recommitted. Rather than New Year “Resolutions” I prefer the term New Year “Recommitments”. Like many, as the year wanes I look back: what I hoped to achieve, how I went about it, were the goals met? If so, how? If not, why?

I started 2013 the same way I am starting 2014 – injured. My goals for the year were a marathon and a 50K, working up to 58K spring 2014. Hubs wisely refrained from arguing with a brick wall and said nothing of the loftiness of those goals in view of the fact I’d run about three times in the past three months.

The goal should probably have been to get healthy, but I didn’t know how since I didn’t know what was wrong, I only knew pain. And I was trying to get better, I just didn’t know how. BRFF “Becky” found Dr. W who was a huge help on the journey, and I kept moving in the right direction, albeit with a few side jaunts. As I repeatedly discover, you do learn something new nearly every day. It may only be that you were wrong again, but, heck – learned, right? A year later I know that it was not a matter of doing things wrong, it was a matter of time for things to come together. I’m very hopeful that what I’ve learned and the places and people I’ve been led to are a solid part of the solution. That, and a bit more time. Thank God I’m at peace, for today, at taking a bit more time.

Two days ago I ran a total of 25 minutes easy, with walk breaks and adding 5 minute walking w/u c/d for a total of 35 minutes/3 miles – the first time I’d run outside exactly 10 weeks. I’d done a mile or two on the treadmill a couple times earlier in the week. I figured that was safest, if anything happened I wouldn’t be half a mile from home. Well, actually I would, I’d be further – at the Center – but I’d have the car, right? I can hop to the car. I’d look like an idiot, of course.

“I don’t think we should, Maude, the ‘girls’ would be flopping mightily.”

“True, Madge, true. We could get a concussion.”

So, I ran. It was glorious. Bright shiny day, cold, breezy, I ran my favorite route looking at the skeletal trees, leaves thick on the ground, the drainage stream crisply frozen on the edges. Running slowly I looked up at the beautifully twisted bare branches making sculpture against the bright sky, sharp curling grey-ish shapes against the dazzling blue. This is really why I do it. All those horrible hot days, the runs that feel like I’m slogging through mud, the days I feel like my head and body are not even connected, there is no communication, legs or lungs go on strike singly or in unison, those days are for this day, completely aware of life surrounding me, enveloping me, fully alive in this living breathing world.

Well, Boy and Girl, this is my 200th post. You’ve both been very faithful supporters. You repeatedly encouraged me to blog; when I did you were my first two followers, and I thank you. Everyone else wishes you’d kept your mouths shut and I will not use your real names to protect you, but thank you both, “Hermione” and “Sylvester”. Somehow 712 people have chosen to follow this nannering, wandering blog, I thank you all also and sincerely apologize for all the lost hours and brain cells.

Things that did not happen yesterday:

1. The tree is still not decorated although it’s fluffed and has a few shiny things hanging on it. This time it’s because I can’t decide the best way to keep the cats from declaring it their new home and then redecorating it to suit their tastes, which is all the balls knocked off onto the floor. I don’t like that look. It’s…crunchy. The vacuum doesn’t like it either, apparently and to my regret.

2. My foot was not miraculously healed. This made my very devout mother sad. You’d think after all these years she would give up, but, no. She’s absolutely convinced that at some point she is going to pray someone out of something. Who knows? She very well may have already, because I figure if she did then we would not know because they would have gotten prayed out of it. My question is, what does God do up there, have a stopwatch and an excel spreadsheet? “Okay, then, Sally beat Janie by .37 second on the praying for rain/praying for no rain, toughski shitzki, Janie, it’s going to rain on your wedding. Pray faster next time, and also I will put you in the lose column and you’ll get a 3 second advantage on the next prayer.”

If either of you two faithful followers are still following after reading that blasphemy you should probably at least climb under your desk to continue.

This means that Dr. Awesome v.2 made my mom sad. I should have pointed this out to him, but I expect he would still not have changed his mind.

In fact, I did sort of point it out. I told him that he had not read the script correctly; his line was supposed to be, “WOW. I made a mistake. Your foot is not broken at all, I’m SO sorry.”

I would have been the bigger person here, too, and I would not have gotten upset. I would be all magnanimous and wave my hand slightly – “oh it’s nothing, I’m sure it happens.”

But, no. No healing. Four more weeks and see him again. And you know what? I suspect that he is a very suspicious man. He doesn’t seem to trust me and I have no idea why. Rather like Hubs thinking I would not wear the boot. Cynical, even.

Would this conversation make you suspicious that someone was suspicious about you?

Dr. A v.2: “See me in four more weeks. Call me in two weeks.”

Me: “Um, OK, why?”

Dr. A v.2: “So I can talk you down.”

Me: (Innocent) “What? You don’t trust me?”

Dr. A v.2: “You’re a runner. I know what you will be thinking two weeks from now when your foot doesn’t hurt so much anymore. Call me and I’ll talk you down.”

Despite laying everything out in the den and giving clear instructions, the Christmas tree did not fluff and decorate itself.

The clothes did not march downstairs, jump in the washer and then the dryer and return to their original starting positions.

Nor did the dishes do anything similar.

And the bed stubbornly refuses to make itself even thought I’ve repeatedly encouraged it.

The good thing is that everything I do takes half again as long while I lurch slowly up and down stairs, dragging three extra pounds around on my left foot. This gives me hope that the extra time and weight will keep me fairly fit for the rest of my life since that’s how long it feels I will be in this boot. I do see Dr. Wonderful 2 this morning so more on that later. Personally I’m planning on him smacking himself in the forehead and exclaiming OMGOSH IT’S A MIRACLE YOU’VE BEEN HEALED, GO FOR A NICE LONG RUN! and you cannot convince me otherwise even with my foot still swollen and tender. That’s just residue from the miracle.

Between 7-1/2 hours spent sitting in front my computer this weekend watching online modules so I can take a test to become a Certified Race Director (learning many important things such as runners should be able to see the START banner) whenever I realized I could no longer feel my butt – which (segue) by the way, has not tried to fall off once since I broke my foot. Coincidence? I think not. I lean toward a conspiracy. But more on that later, I’m still trying to figure it out and they know I’m sticking close, watching them –

Anyway, whenever I realized I could no longer feel my butt, sitting here peering blindly at the computer trying to find the sweet spot in my trifocals, I paused the video and did some laundry or washed dishes or something. I know, I’m wild and crazy but there is no stopping me. And I’ve decided that probably the tree could decorate itself but it’s just being helpful by giving me something to do, lurching about fluffing branches and trying in vain to kneel down on this boot to reach the lower branches, burn some calories there, Terri, get that HR up a bit.

So – ShuBootAh is being helpful too, making extra work for me. OH – and – she is hot and I don’t mean whoa she’s fine. That sucker holds the heat. So I’m saving money on utilities also.

I have to say, I’m really pleased with all this positive thinking I have going on. Most of the time I’m a bit cynical, but this morning I’m practically glowing with positivity.

You know who’s cynical even though they say they aren’t? Hubs. Hubs is cynical and you cannot convince me otherwise because I’ve seen his cynical eyeball roll about 1,237,698 times, and I think 1,237,657 of those were caused by me.

The other day he watched silently as I put ShuBootAh back on (I’d taken her off to get a break, putting my foot up for a minute). I looked at him from the corner of my eye.

“You thought I would not wear the boot like I should, didn’t you?”

He hesitated. “I have to say, you are doing much better than I expected.”

Number of days in ShuBootAh: 18

Number of times I’ve thrown her across the room narrowly missing poor Murphy: 1

5:05am and wide awake again. I think I may start trying to do the elliptical. I hate to drive to the center just to ellipticize for 20-30 minutes but I’m going to have to do something to use up some energy and calories so I can quit waking so early with nothing to do. The exploding head would probably blow off some energy but it’s so much messier.

You know, it’s fairly easy to find an argument on Google for whatever you wish to find permission to do, so I did use the elliptical at Killer’s on Friday for 20 minutes. I actually did it for about 10 minutes, with a rest every other minute because I have, indeed, lost that much fitness in five weeks and had to stop and breathe every other minute. We will not dwell on that. I balanced on my heel with no pressure on the forefoot and it didn’t hurt. I haven’t tried again; I don’t want to screw anything up even though, as I said, it didn’t hurt – I’ve been burned by the Injury Fairy so many times in the past 15 months that right now I’m gun shy. However, from what I could find on The Great Oracle Google, it’s OK to do the elliptical if I’m stabilized in the boot. Now I shall consult the other two Great Oracles, you, my two faithful followers of my world-famous blog. Should I do the elliptical or not?

Remember, the safety of my family, the animals and my foot lie in your hands. No pressure.

Meanwhile back at the Zoo, waiting for the Shrine to heat up, I let Murphy out. Hubs said, don’t forget Murphy. I said, it’s 5:15 in the morning and it’s cold and rainy, he won’t last five minutes out there before he’s scratching on the door. On the way out to the gym hub’s final words: just don’t forget Murphy.

So, of course, I did and now he is not in the yard. dammit. It’s 35 degrees and raining lightly and I’m out on the deck in the darkness (I tell you, I hear shuffling. Do snakes shuffle? Maybe it’s a fox. Rabid racoon? I know it’s not Murphy because his collar jingles.) yelling softly (and how stupid is that? can you even yell + softly? Isn’t that just talking?) MURPHY MURPHY but no response. I’ve had no coffee. I really really do not want to go down the steps of the deck and hobble around the yard in the dark, in my sock feet sans boot, stepping on razor sharp edges of hickory nut shells which the squirrels constantly drop from the tress, littering the path. I go to the kitchen door and stand in the carport MURPHY! MURPHY! and the damn cat scoots out the door and under the car.

I do not have my boot on and I’ve had no coffee. I’d intended to get a cup of coffee and then get ready for the day. Now I don’t have time to get my boot on because if the damn cat gets under the deck the story is over and I’ll be crawling in rainy drizzly cold wetness in the dark where snakes might live and that’s going to happen exactly: never. I try to peer under the car to see if I can grab her, but I can’t see anything. Oh, wait, it’s FIVE EFFING O-DARK-THIRTY IN THE MORNING and it’s pitch black outside in the dark rainy morning in which I’ve had no coffee. Plus I can’t bend all the way over because then my forefoot bends *ouch* so I’m kind of hunched like some crabby old cat lady whispering dammit Chunk! I hobble back into the house and grab the broom, meanwhile trying to intimidate Mo enough that he won’t go near the open door, which is open in the useless hope the damn cat will run from under the car back in through the open door and into the house. Plus, intimidating Mo is like candy from a baby, there’s no need and it’s mean so now I feel bad.

I swipe the broom under the car and she scoots out … and directly around the corner to the front porch which is freeking dark as night because it IS night. I hobble after her in my sock feet on the pebbly surface of the carport *ouch* *ouch* *ouch*. I can’t see her on the black hole of a porch so I hobble back into the house and around to the front door and turn on the porch light. Scurrying like a crab I return to see the damn. cat. scoot back under the damn car.

!@!#$!!! &^%$!! *&(*&&^!!!! and @#$%!!! I mutter as I sling the broom under the car, swiping wildly. Where is the damn cat??

Oh, I see. There she is, so cute and fluffy, sitting in the kitchen doorway watching me attack nothing under the car.

“Whatcha doing, mom?”

Look at that sweet innocent face, taking good care of her baby to show me how it should be done.

Then I drove around the block twice trying to find the dog. I gave up and went home only to find Murphy right there in front of our house, peeing on the neighbor’s bushes. Tucked tail, ears down, he runs into the back yard and onto the deck. OH, look, here I am! Right where I should be!

I’m going to have to do something to use up some energy and calories so I can quit waking so early, forced to be responsible before I’ve had coffee. The exploding head would probably blow off some energy but it’s so much messier.

I was really pretty proud of myself. I’m disappointed now, of course, but then I disappoint myself more than I make myself proud so I’m used to that.

But, then I considered the fact that I’d lasted much longer than I expected so I felt rather proud again. Not really, really proud like, Oh, Look, I did an Ironman. Or like Oh, Look, I invented something that will save lives. More like, Oh, Look, I managed to not kick a kitten.

JUST KIDDING I would not kick a kitten. You know, unless it got right in front of my foot when I was walking and I didn’t see it and it sailed through the air by accident, so I think that should not count. Plus she’s just fine. She’s like three years old now and still shows no adverse effects and also she was so damn tiny, I really did not see her.

I was so committed to being rational and patient, too. I practiced thinking patient rational things. I said them out loud to other people. “Well, I’m just going to look at this as my reset button.” “I’ll just wait until January and go back to the beginning.” “This is probably a good thing to happen. Maybe I’ve finally figured out the cause of all the issues.”

And I meant it. I really did. I listened to me talking and watched my brain, and brain was nodding in agreement. Brain was all zen and calm and agreeing with everything we said. I thought, wow, I’m actually calm. I’m being calm and focused and not letting this upset me, and I felt proud of myself.

The thing that frustrates me, among about 10,000,000 other things, is that I suspect there are some people out there that never threw their boot across the room mentioning its very questionable parentage.

Pride goeth before a fall.

Yesterday morning I thought, Oh, look, I’ve had this @#$%& – @#&(‘ing boot since Thursday and it’s Monday which is going on five days and I didn’t throw it across the room yet.

Just in case you ever need to know, the damn things don’t break easily. This is probably a good thing, though, since I don’t want to have to call the grumpy receptionist at the podiatrist’s and tell her I broke my foot and my boot, please ma’am may I have another? because the way she sighs on the phone the papers on the other lady’s desk probably blow all over in a whirlwind and you know that would be my fault also.